The Lost Parchment
by sopranna
Summary: Spike's life was ridden with tragedy, but his human life was even more so. One small thing set the wrong to right, and clears the loss in his former life behind, paving a path to a set turn of events that started his vampric life. AU 1860-1890 WilliamSpik
1. Chapter One

Author's note:  
  
First off, thank you for reading. I am a first time author here on fanfiction.net, and any support would be appreciated. Secondly, I am not asking for reviews, or (in the case of some silly authors that I see continually begging for them drastically) unstoppable praise that practically proclaims that I am a goddess of some sorts. Yes, all of the above would be sincerely nice, but all I ask is that you understand, as you the reader, that this is a fictional work by a fan of the show, no monetary contributions or other greed-led grounds for suing are involved with this work. Joss Whedon is a god, James Marsters is very bloody hot, I still miss Tara and I still wonder what was up with that Cheese Man.  
  
And now, without delay- enjoy the story.  
  
The Lost Parchment  
  
"William!", gasped the hyper, giggling young girl with the bright, sunny face. Her blue eyes sparkled with micheavious delight, and her arms failed about her as she ran down the green, grassy hill of the park laughing loudly.  
  
"Lizzy! You silly bint! Get back here or I shall tickle you until you can no longer breathe!", called out a young lad of only fourteen. His ear length, light brown hair shaggily bounced with each bound as he raced down the hill to keep up with the girl. The little lady looked back at him to check her distance, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and locked gazes with him for a moment. His sight became so concentrated on her eyes that he clearly missed a rock, and upon that moment stumbled into her small, lithe frame knocking her down, and rolling together down the hill.  
  
Down, down and down they went until they crumbled to the bottom. William froze, afraid to ask.  
  
"Lizzy, pet.are you quite alright? Are you hurt in any way?" His eyes bore down into hers, with fright and tetosterone boring through.  
  
The girl smiled shyly, then her face broke out into a clear grin. "My William, I could fly!" Upon seeing the look of relief wash over his face, she added, "Let's do that again!"  
  
"Bloody hell, no!"  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
She smiled smallishly to herself as she brushed her flaxen, long black hair. She always preferred to style her hair herself as it gave her time to reflect on the earlier part of the day, and to think of useless mingle to exercise at whatever party she was attending to that night. Wearing the first half of her hair pinned up in a slightly teased style with curls framing her face and ribbons weaved in, she iron curled her remaining-half head of hair with a tedious look of concentration on her face. Normally, she hurried through the procedure, but tonight she took all the time she could in getting ready. He would be there.  
  
He would be William Townsend, her childhood friend, and the man she had admired for several years. Upon her mother's death, she had been returned to her birth country France for the past four years. Now, on her sixteenth birthday she was being temporarily established to her father's country under his order to find a husband. She had at first been terribly lonely in only her governess Glinda's care, but after a while found herself suited to the older, homey, aunt-like figure.  
  
A bell tolled, and a candle blew out, leaving the room in little light and blanketed in the heavy feeling of impending darkness. She shuddered, and quickly felt her way to the balcony doors, and heaved against the small, ornate latch. It snapped open, and the door creaked its way to a full span letting the moon's light rain down on her. Such a crisp, watery feeling of nighttime there was, she couldn't help but to step outside a little more, drawing her warm chenille shawl about her bare shoulders tighter as she bathed herself in the light of the dark sun of the night. Not even self- aware of the simple shift she wore under the shawl, her bare feet padded to the rail, then looked down to the bustling London street below.  
  
William would make a poem of this night. And just like when we were younger, he would read it to me in the parlor, and I would arrange tea and biscuits on the tray just so, and we would delightfully make an afternoon of each other's company playing husband and wife like grown lords and ladies just a few years our senior.  
  
She smiled to herself as she remembered times past. They almost seemed untouchable, as if they had never even happened, but were just a faint memory. However, they were her fondest.  
  
Turning to the room, she found the door by the light of the full moon, turning the handle to sliding the heavy door open. There stood her governess, true to time and frowning at her appearance. "My maid, only a half of the hour left before we must leave for this ball at the Netherfields, and you have yet to finish your hair, lace the corset, or apply the garment? We shall be late! Better hurry up the ante, and quicken your pace!" She shooed at the girl, and handed her a small hallway candle to light her own that had blown out. "And don't you dare try to blame the iron this time!"  
  
Lizzy shrugged, her eyes in pondering. "My governess, I apoligise- my candle blew out rather strangely and it frightened me so." She shuddered remembering the strange coincidence of the bell toll and the disappearance of light.  
  
Glinda eyed her suspiciously. "They say that candles are the gateways to other worlds, and lead you to them. Do not tamper with candles- they hold immense power." With that, the governess closed the door, leaving the girl with her back to the moon, holding the soft, slim reminder of delicate light. 


	2. Chapter Two

The Lost Parchment Chapter Two  
  
The room was light with grand chandeliers and sconces by the walls, with crystals dripping from the both of them. Couples laughed, and their jewels shone so clearly that it added to the laughter and the merriment of the room. Intoxicating aromas wafted across the room from the large banquet tables of fine foods, card tables rattled in the corner as decks were shuffled, and the newly polished floor clicked and clacked as the ladies's slippers danced upon them. In the grand scene, only one person hardly had a care of it all.  
  
He sat quietly in the corner, minding his own with an inquiring look upon his face. His back hunched over his precious book, his shoulder tense with writing with a freshly sharpened pencil. The dancers in the foreground swayed and waltzed past him with the fine ladies' big skirts made of satin clouds flying past, and the slender, dolled men's tailored legs chased after the women in a delicate dance in the timeless chase of love. The beat grew stronger, and faster, and the laughter rose and resonated in the grand hall. His pace in writing picked up, as he got closer to the anticipated phrase in his writing when.  
  
"William!"  
  
He froze. The voice was vaguely familiar, and he looked across from his now- slack writing hand. From the bottom of the fine skirts he could see small, dainty feet in satin lined slippers, and his eye rose in surprise. Fine satin of dark, midnight blue belled out elegantly from the most slender, appealing waistline his eyes had beset on. His eyes rose, he saw the heaving bosom of a fine lady from her neckline, which was in turn adorned with jewels, ruffles and black lace trimming the tops of the dress.  
  
Her skin was fair and creamy, her heart-shaped face pale and full of light. Her cheeks blushed, her sweet, lush ruby lips smiled as she bit her lower lip slightly when their eyes met. Her clear, blue eyes twinkled back at him, and her French accent thickly shone through her words.  
  
"William, you must remember me? Your fellow letter-writer, over the seas?" she frowned slightly upon the look of shock on his face. "William, it is I, Elizabeth Charmant? Lizzy?"  
  
A look of recognition passed his face. This couldn't be the sweet, childish girl he knew those four years ago, could it? He jumped up in surprise, the book and pencil now forgotten and clattering to the floor as he reach over on his feet to hug her. "Lizzy! How well you do look- I could not even recognize you!"  
  
Lizzy giggled, and embraced him back. "I knew I could find you," she murmured. "But look at you- all handsome and all grown up! Are you still writing your stories?" She stepped back, giving him an eye-over, smiling all the while.  
  
William blushed slightly, and nodded. "Yes, although I do prefer to write poems now."  
  
The dance behind them ended, and a new one began. Lizzy pursed her lips together, hoping William to ask her to dance even though he looked much too shy to do so. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned in slight annoyance, only to see the governess frowning. "And who is this gentleman?" she demanded. Her arms were crossed sullenly, and her eyes were stern. She shook her head as Lizzy told her of their childhood friendship. "Dear child, this is your pre-dubante ball! Look for a husband here, and encourage friends to call on us! Do not waste precious time here doing what you could do outside of the ball!"  
  
Lizzy sighed, and knew her governess was right. "William, you do know where the stay is, right? On-"  
  
"-The street after the Rossendale's?" He smiled. "Yes, I remember. I'll call on you tomorrow, if that is alright with you two fine ladies?" When both maid and governess smiled, he nodded. "I shall be there. Now go, Lizzy, and catch yourself a husband. This ball is making my head spin and hurt anyways- I shall go home and have myself a good night's sleep."  
  
Lizzy bowed, and smiled up at him. He returned the bow, catching her hand rather awkwardly and kissing it. They both giggled secretively as his weak imitation of the standard gesture, then bowed again. William smiled genuinely at the governess, then made his way through the crowd to the door.  
  
The streets were cold and wet, the brick on them making the short trek to the carriage a hair-raising one. However, he bounded inside and tapped the roof, signaling the drive to start. Before long he was back in the front of his grand home that was only a short three blocks from his childhood friend.  
  
He made his way inside, taking short, tentative steps. Something felt wrong in the air. It was far too quiet for a Friday evening, and he made sure not to stay out late. He shuddered, feeling something in the pit of his stomach bother him. Just as his nerves started to get to him, he heard a soft voice tenderly call for him.  
  
"Son, William? Come here."  
  
William followed the voice of his mother to see her in the parlor, dabbing at her eyes. She looked up at him, and smiled wearily. "Darling, please have a seat."  
  
William swallowed the growing lump in his throat. This couldn't be good. Obeying his mother's orders, he sat quickly, and leaned forward nervously. "Dearest mother, what is the matter?"  
  
She shook her head. "Your father was due back yesterday from his trip. However, the ship has arrived and he was not on it. I received word from the captain himself that your father was never in his cabin. Tomorrow I should have a telegraph from the port in France to see if he even got there in the first place.but I am so worried for him!" she burst into fresh tears, soaking her handkerchief even more. "Don't breathe a word to anyone until we know what is going on- I don't know how to secure our things and papers.best not to let the state know he is- well.what he may be until we know for sure.."  
  
William moved to put an arm around his mother. He battled his emotions, testing his mind and trying to come up with a reasonable conclusion for his father's disappearance. Mayhaps he got drunk and forgot to board the ship? -But his father rarely consumed. Could there be a chance that he mixed up the dates? -Yet his father was the most self-aware and responsible person that he had ever known in his twenty-two years. He kept pondering, trying to think of an explanation that he could soothe his mother with.  
  
He could think of none. 


End file.
